Nataku's Mantle: Wrath of the Asynjur
by tanuki o kitsune
Summary: Curse of a past forgotten awakens and threatens to undo what has been done [ Please R and R... ]
1. Midnight Solace

A/N: This fic is collaboration between Iki-Neko and Kamiya. Italicized words are thought. Standard disclaimer applies.

**Nataku's Mantle: Wrath of the Asynjur**

Midnight in the kingdom of Volsug came with a raging storm. Lightning cut across the heavens and rain fell heavily over the canopies of the dense forest. Thunder boomed loudly through the darkness, the shrill whistling of the wind adding more to the ominous presence brought by the storm.

The dark tempest swirled and raged, its howls daring any man to come against its path, but no answer came…even the bravest chose to withdraw from the storm's challenge and retreat into the safety of their homes and the warmth of a pyre. The sound of minds could very well understand the threat of death should one get caught in the storm's fury.

Yet… a hooded figure treaded the muddy paths of the dense forest, his lithe strides not even near threat of sinking in the sludge, and not once did he slip. Such feat in the presence of a storm only seemed to be proof that he was an agile and an audacious man… more so, because he dismissed the threat of the storm's fury… his steps slow and placid, unhurried and with hardly a care in the world.

His light tread ceased as he lazily pulled his gaze from the ground to stare at the entrance of a small village — another of many small dwellings scattered around the outskirts of the capital city, Prontera.

An anticipating smile appeared on his lips as he studied the place. The feeble lights of the neighborhood twinkled as though inviting him to come. The invitation was more than welcome… He drew his katars, his grin grew wide, and as though heaven sensed his purpose…the night cracked with a bolt illuminating his lone figure…heaven's warning to whosoever was unfortunate to receive his visit…

…………………………………

"Feh…"

Irritably, the old woman dropped the spent matchstick and attempted to light another one.

"Having a candle die out on you in the middle of the damned night…and in a storm at that!" she grumbled to herself as the candle caught blaze.

With that done, the old lady slowly hobbled over to an old rocking chair and eased herself into it. No, she could not go to bed once she'd awakened. Add to that, the storm will prevent any chance at slumber.

_"Better to wait until dawn…" _

A suddenly sardonic smile crept upon her wrinkled face.

"_If I could manage to see it that is…"_

The cottage was already secure, and with nothing better to do… she opted to pick up her crocheting and begin her work.

"Eh?" a seemingly amused voice sent her to crick her neck, looking for its source. "Grandma…you're awake. That's too bad … I was hoping to catch you asleep."

The old woman dropped her crochet on her lap, gaze fixated at the candle.

"I've been expecting you…," she whispered evenly.

"Really?" came the amused query of her midnight guest.

Moving out of the shadows and into the lighted circumference of the lone candle, he perched his hip on the table and idly studied the old woman, not even bothering to sheath the katars in his hands and began carving out small cuts upon the table wood.

"You are the Midnight Wanderer, are you not?" she asked, ignoring his vandal of her property.

The man chuckled.

"So… I guess this means you really are a genuine psychic," he sneered. "Forgive me if I find your famed clairvoyance nothing more than crap…"

With difficulty brought by age, the woman stood from her chair and slowly ambled towards the hooded figure. She stopped a few inches from his person and reached up to touch his forehead. Her mouth began to move listlessly in a chant as she closed her eyes in concentration.

What began as amusement turned into bewilderment, and escalated into sudden anger… he gripped her wrist and pulled the hand roughly from his forehead.

"I don't want to be the subject of your enchantment, hag," he warned.

The old lady stared back at him fearlessly, a calm smile poised on her lips. "Your presence here as the way you are now will fade by the light of the full moon, exactly fifteen years from her grave… only the armor of the Gods will save you from your curse --- "

The old woman's sentence was cut off as the man's heavily gloved hand backhanded across her face, sending her body clear across the room. Her head cracked against the wooden post, bursting into a cascade of blood and brain. A weak moan elicited from her ashen face and dying lips, her eyes blinking with the haze from her own blood as she tried to focus a look upon her attacker.

Silence ensued as the man's figure glanced at the limp body sprawled on the floor. He lit a cheroot and watched as she continued to bleed, scarlet stains flooding the carpet of her humble home. He walked towards her prone form and felt for a pulse, only to find a weak one. The old hag was dying.

He stood, taking out the cigarette from his lips, and dropped the ashes of it into the woman's dying gasps, grinning, "May the dawn come without you seeing it… and me pocketing five hundred thousand zeny…"

That said, he left, strolling out the way he came. The storm had turned into a drizzle in the course of his assassination.

_"I suppose the little sacrifice has appeased the gods," _he thought with a smile.

-------------------

Tell us what you think about the fic… It'll be very much appreciated… :D


	2. Running Shadows

**Running Shadows**

Morroc---a desert kingdom ruled by guild houses of the most powerful assassins and contract killers in the history of Rune Midgard. Even then, these guild houses fought against one another for supremacy in a trade where the loss of life became a means of living for another. Like merchants, the assassins knew they had competition; sabotage and infiltrations into enemy groups were common among their kind…but such threats were not easily ignored, and of course, this is where guild guardsmen come in—a group tasked to protect the guild house from attack.

On one such night, a guardsman stood alone outside his guild, poised at attention as he watched his seniors and several high position assassins pass him by with hardly a glance. It was a common sight…guardsman though he was, he knew the assassins did not give a damn for his duty — he was but a display of some sort, a man with a duty created simply for formality's sake for he knew the assassins could very well protect the guild without need of his services.

Raucous laughter could be heard even before a trio of assassins emerged out the door of their guild house, their faces clearly eager for a riot out in town, and the weight of zeny in their pockets more than ready to be spent on drinks and women.

"The assignment I got was nothing more than a piece of cake! I took one look at the guy and he died of a heart attack!" one of them bragged, laughing out loud for emphasis, while his companions commended and patted him on the back.

"Ei right on Laquan! Very soon…Morroc will have a new group of assassins to fear," one of them laughed. "The veterans better make way for the younger generation… We'll kick their old rotting behinds with the points of our boots!"

The guardsman snorted loudly at the comment. Everyone knew that in Morroc or any other place in Rune Midgard, only two assassins vied for the title of most deadly. These I_teenagers/I _would be like porings to a boss monster compared to the duo.

"Arrogant little pups…," he muttered under his breath.

"Eh! You have something to say guard?" another of them grunted.

The guard stiffened and pretended not to hear until all three disappeared into the city… He never noticed the blur of a shadow upon the desert sand as it slipped past his watch and into the guild house.

O

He managed to slip past the guard…now the easy part was over. The trespasser cloaked himself against the walls, carefully hiding himself in the shadows of the guild house… making sure the light from the lit torches never touched him. He knew for certain that if they did…the merest outline of his shadow would betray him into the hands of the guild.

He carefully controlled his breathing and slowed the pace of his heart as he moved, making the least amount of effort to keep his movements from being too hurried and awkward enough to be detected. Every so often, the hall would echo with the voices of its guild members, and more than once, he'd stuck himself so closely to the wall he felt like a pancake… He'd done this all to avoid even the slightest brush of the men's suit against his person.

"Where is it?" he thought angrily as he weaved himself through the many hallways of the guild house, opening doors so carefully with the perfect skill of a practiced interloper… it was impossible to tell that it had been picked. "Damn! Where is it!"

Soon enough, his question came answered when a portly old man emerged from one of the rooms — glasses fell halfway down the bridge of his oily nose, and eyes squinted and small from reading hardly came up from the tower of books he carried in his arms. If his guess was correct…the man was none other than the archive manager.

A grin slowly appeared on his lips. He found the right room…

The archive manager was too distracted with his load to even notice the quick movement of the intruder's hands as it slipped through his pockets and retrieved the key to the guild archives. As soon as the coast was clear, he uncloaked himself and walked soundlessly to the door, opening it with the stolen key and peering into its darkness—rum and burnt out cigarettes made a distinct scent from within.

_"Looks like the archive manager does more than just read in this room…" _

He took out a transparent bottle and shook it in his hand; it bubbled from within and slowly began to glow. Its luminescence inside the dark room served as his only means of vision as he carefully set its glow upon several rolled out parchments, hardly even taking interest in each as he moved from one to the next. He already knew what he was looking for…and none of the titles he'd read were even close to that he was searching for…

The vial in his hand began to grow dim.

"Hell! I'll kill that alchemist! It was supposed to glow for an hour!" the intruder cursed as he squinted even harder to look at the parchments. A large grin broke on his face as he rolled out a rotting piece of paper and read the openings of a riddle…

Beads of sweat broke on his fore as he carefully rolled it and tucked the item into one of the many pockets of his suit.

Several footsteps resounded from outside the room of the guild's archives and he stiffened, carefully cloaking himself to the walls. A thin line of light fell across the floor as the door of the room opened, the head of the archive manager peeked in. The hidden prowler bit back the urge to curse as he concentrated his efforts on keeping himself camouflaged.

"Eh?" the archive manager stared at the mess of parchments arrayed in the library of his guild house, the man's eyes widened in alarm. "Good God in Asgard! We've been intruded!" He began to back away out of the room to warn his guild mates.

"Damn! Getting too caught up in my search… Damn!" he cursed mentally as he immediately appeared out of hiding; using his quick agile to weave through the bookcases in a matter of seconds to block the man from exiting the room.

"Good God!"

The archive manager hardly managed to utter a cry of help when the man's hands clamped the sides of his head and twisted it, his neck broke…and his body fell with a thud upon the parchments.

The intruder's eyes stared at the archive manager's dead body for what seemed like a minute before making a decision. He patted the rolled piece of parchment bulging in his pocket—he already had what he came for.

Drawing a match, he lit himself a cheroot as he casually leaned against the closed door, oblivious to the presence of a dead body right in front of him. He took one long draw from his stick and threw it into the mess of paper in the library. In less than a heartbeat he was gone…leaving the archives to catch fire and burn into a blaze.

"Let the old archive manager take the blame for it…," he grinned as he carefully stole out of the guild house…his presence kept unknown all throughout the course of his theft.

O

Minutes from his successful intrude on the archives, the same man travelled through the city of Morroc. His movements were a blur as he scaled rooftops in quick step, barely even making a sound upon the homes of the sleeping civilians as he bounded from one roof to the next. His eyes were slanted in full concentration but a smile lined his lips, pleased by the weight of half-a-million zeny in the pouch of one of his pockets, and the bulge of the stolen old parchment in another...

He landed on the rooftop of an old tavern—the smell of beer and perfume of whores was overwhelming… but the scent told him he was at the right place.

He grinned. "He's probably around here…"

As if on cue, he heard the sound of a familiar voice ranting and raving from within the establishment.

"You messed with the wrong guy ditch crap!" a loud voice roared from within the pub.

Several crashes coupled the sound of breaking glass as tables and chairs broke through the windows… followed by three figures of assassins badly beaten and wounded limping hurriedly out of the establishment.

The man on the rooftop chuckled, removing the ghost bandanna on his head as he squatted to take a better view of the commotion. "He's here all right…"

A tall evenly built man emerged from the pub, his face contorted in serious ferocity.

"Come back here you desert dogs and finish what you started! Cowards!" he shouted at the trio of retreating assassins, and as if he wasn't through with them, he threw stones, hitting one square on the head. "Don't let me see your faces again or I swear I'll kill you!"

The quiet observer remained silently amused and watched as the man grumbled and cussed threats. Seeing the man was still distracted with the outcome of what was evidently a barroom brawl, he deftly drew a dagger from the side of his shoe and carefully aimed at the fuming figure,

With one flick of a wrist, the dagger whistled through the air causing the man to reflexively jump back out of its line.

"Hell!" he cursed as his neck suddenly craned to look at the figure on the rooftop.

The other waved a hand in a playful salute of a greeting, and grinned as he jumped off over the rooftops and disappeared.

The attacked man remained rooted to his place just a few feet from the dagger that was previously aimed for him and bent down to pick up the piece of parchment tied on its handle.

_"How bout a drink…same place?"_

He glared at the piece of paper for what seemed like forever, and a smile crept on his lips. "Wily bastard! Couldn't have just said it himself without trying to kill me…"

With that said, he suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter, ignoring the strange looks the bartender and customers from within the pub were giving him.

O

A/N…

Tanuki: Comments, flames, suggestions are very much welcome!

Kitsune: so click the button… go on… click it…

Tanuki: you shouldn't force them!

Kitsune: I'm not forcing them, tanuki… I just want them to click it.


	3. Evening Ale

**Evening Ale**

"So…" a seemingly bored voice spoke in the silence, "Where are you headed?"

"Just a stop-over at Prontera…" another answered, "I'm looking for a healer."

The man's only reply came in light chuckles escalated into soft laughter. In the shadowed night, two dark silhouettes sat on the ledge of an old abandoned stone cottage---the typical design of Morrocan residence. There was a light clank as a bottle of Morrocan wine touched the lips of a glass cup,

"Prontera eh? For a healer!" the assassin grinned, light desert breeze filtered through long hair tied at the nape, the cold ferocity in his expression earlier that night was forgotten as his face lit with a smile. It was one that would otherwise melt any girl's heart had it not been partly hidden by bangs that completely covered the right side of his handsome face, slighted only by a scar that ran down his left cheek. "I didn't know you were hiring help Rei,"

The other, called Rei, slid his ghost bandanna to one side, and faced his companion squarely, "This is a hunt Flick, I don't know the exact particulars of this mission but bringing a priest along would be of help." A serious expression was on the man's face. "Besides," he continued, "I would be able to save a lot of zeny for the healing potions."

"Ahh, how miserly of you…," Flick mocked. "…but how in the world are you going to acquire a healer? What idiot would ever volunteer to go with an assassin…?"

A quiet expression flitted across Rei's face, "I don't think my healer would think of objecting…"

"Oh really? How are you going about convincing a priest to join you?" Flick scoffed, not quite convinced when he suddenly caught sight of a suspiciously malicious look in his friends eyes. He choked on his wine and started laughing, "Oh my God! Tell me you're not doing _that!"_ he said in mock surprise.

Rei cocked his head to one side in assent, sending his companion's chuckles into escalated laughter. "What's a man of my profession to do?" he said evenly. "I'll have to steal one of course,"

Flick made an effort to suppress his laughter before letting it all out full-blown. "Do you actually believe you can steal a priest from the church?" Flick hiccoughed, finally gaining reign on his mirth.

"Don't laugh too much…," Rei commented, not bothering to answer the question nor hide his irritation. "You'll run out of air…"

"You're unbelievable, Rei," Flick stated, hiccupping from remnants of his hysterical amusement.

Rei, the assassin with the ghost bandanna, picked up his katars and backpack, "Well then, I'd better be going…"

Now only smiling, Flick stood up and then clasped Rei's shoulder, "Good luck! You're gonna need it…"

Flick watched him go, his thoughts centered on Rei, the assassin aliased Midnight Wanderer—friends though they were, Rei still remained as much of an enigma to him as was to the other assassins. More importantly… Flick smiled, "The man's a born killer…"

Never had two lone assassins met without trying to kill the other where in their line of work; it would be more convenient to kill off the weaker competition. However…this was not the case for the two. They were men of the most deadly repute and the most reclusive and in-demand of their field, much more terrifying when brought together as friends than if they were as rivals.

It really was a wonder how they ever became friends—two assassins; one, able to kill with his bare hands, and he…Flick chuckled, he on the other hand, was the cunning one…

"Well Rei," Flick began as he walked lazily towards the southern gate, "Good thing you didn't ask me what my assignment was…"

Flick laughed aloud at the thought as he headed out of the gate. His next destination… Comodo.


	4. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous**

"There' new meat over at the beash--beach today… hic," a drunken man hiccoughed as he downed another glass of ale, his lids lowered and blinking slowly as the effects of the alcohol dulled his senses, "They say she'z a beaut… hic Wonder how much she's worth…? hic"

His companion snickered. "Give it up old man, heard she's worth more zeny than rares—only big shots could ever afford her."

The man grimaced. "Hell…! hic Hot shotz like yah can afford her, hic but I can still dream hic can't I?"

The man before him grinned, his green eyes, somewhat dulled by the effects of alcohol, still retained a strange sparkle that matched the charm of his boyish smile and the casual air about his form and figure. Compared to the slumping drunk beside him, he was dressed more extravagantly---the white suit and carnation pinned to his breast made him appear inapt for the run-down bar where he drank his ale.

"Don't look down on yourself," he answered, pouring his companion another round of drinks. "Don't worry about this night's drinks, it's on me---just be sure to pay up the rest of what you owe from my establishment."

"Heh," the man slumped, the effects of the alcohol already weighing him down. "Loan me 'nother mil… hic"

"You already owe me more than that,"

"Will give it back to yah… hic twice hic… Am a feelin' lucky t'night," the other slurred, before finally falling asleep on the table.

"Hey…darn, can't you hold up your own drink?" his companion remarked disappointedly, noting the flurry of harried footfalls as a growing crowd of men began to assemble before the stage—their eager voices shouting out cat calls and bidding offers and gifts to the dancers for a night of pleasure.

The man awake stared at his slumbering companion, shook his head as he grinned mockingly and downed one last bottle of ale before standing and dusting off the sand and dust that had clung to his suit.

"Too bad old man," he muttered as he left, blending with the crowd of onlookers gathered round the stage, "You're going to miss the show"

O

The festivities in Comodo never end. Fireworks splayed the skies as dancers bared their bodies to entice—hardly covered by the sheer soft fabric that moved with every sway of their hips and bodies as they moved in tune to the sensual strumming of the bards' guitars and instruments.

Amidst the many dancers in Comodo, a new face had arrived to steal the hearts of the unwary. Her raven hair glistened from sweat under the moonlight, soft white skin bathed in the multi-colored lights of the fireworks in the sky as she sensually stretched her body in time to the slow sensual beat of her partner's mandolin.

The crowd around her grew, and so did the number of offers from the men who wished only to share her bed for the night. Each offer she declined by dancing away from their outstretched arms; whispers of desire she drowned out with each strumming melody of the guitar resounding in her ear.

As she swayed her hips in tune to the music, she caught sight of a newly arrived guest in the circle of her audience. She didn't notice him at first, but the obvious interest in his eyes betrayed him as something more than a casual observer.

Her lashes lowered, she bit her lower lip, a sparkle in her cat-like eyes.

"He's cute…," she thought to herself, dancing closer to his figure. "Exactly as I thought he would be…"

The guitar paused, the crowd grew silent—waiting for a change in beat, a move from her… or none at all. The crowd around her stood stalk still, content to stare at the pure sensuality of her form—the curve and shadow of her body as she stood in the moonlight, her flushed face, her eyes, bright and cat-like, and her lips, pursed in a smile of satisfaction.

The sand beneath her brushed as she walked over to the newly arrived, each confident stride a seeming invite to worldly passions.

"Hello…," she purred, boring her eyes into his.

"Hi…," he answered with equal confidence as he trailed a finger on the gemstones of her necklace to pause at the base of her throat, eyes lowered to the shadow of her breasts in the low cut bodice.

He casually brushed back the thick mane of sandy brown hair from his emerald green eyes in seeming amazement at the bold look she gave him.

As if on cue, the bard stretched his fingers and began to play—a slower, deeper, more sensual beat, given more emphasis by the hiss of the maracas and beating skins of the drum.

He grinned sheepishly, feigning indifference as he tucked his hands in his pockets and watched enraptured by her as she slowly turned, swaying her hips as she moved. Her lips curved in a seductive grin as she let the back of her hand 'accidentally' brush against the crotch of his pants as she danced.

Leaning her back against his chest, she rounded her hips against him, sensing his mounting desire from the bulge that pressed against her lower back.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" he whispered huskily, confidence rising from the explicit signals she gave him…giving him courage to boldly trail his palm from her leg, caressing the curve of her waist, only to stop beneath her breast.

"Is it that obvious?" she inquired in mock innocence, ignoring the envious looks of her other male spectators as she catered to the newly arrived.

"Perhaps…you would like to work for me," the man offered, nuzzling her neck.

"Depends…on who you are," she smiled.

He deftly drew a card from pocket of his suit and slid it through the strap of her bodice.

Catching eye of the name on the card, she beamed,

"So…you're Rolsen Verdelle are you?"

"None other…"

"Hmm…," she smiled, "Perhaps I'll consider it…"

"Of course…," he suddenly added, a mischievous glint in his emerald green eyes. "I would like to have a private audition…"

"Maybe…," she grinned, pushing up from him and dancing away from his grasp.

The grin on the man's lips never left his face.

"Another one bites the dust…," she thought to herself as her cat-like eyes fixated on him with wanton intensity as she swayed her hips with greater dexterity and extended her arms to him as if to invite him to her embrace.

Already, the mounting desire in his gaze grew more passionate with every move she made. Slowly teasing, she unwrapped the first sash round her hips and with a spin let the fabric fall across the man's neck as she drew him to her.

"The back of the casino…half an hour from now," she whispered huskily before pushing him away and dancing even more vibrantly for her audience.

"I did it…," she thought triumphantly as she let the music carry her off along with her victory.


End file.
